Blue Plate Special
by Maid Malcolm
Summary: Bibbo/Mercy. I swear this was NOT my idea. I was less complicit in this than the Khaji Da/Supercycle one. So don't blame me.


For the fourth morning in a row, the pretty woman sat alone at a corner table of Bibbo's Diner. She was hauntingly familiar somehow, although he couldn't remember where he'd seen her. He brought her the Blue Plate Special without waiting for her to ask for it; he knew the order by now. She ate in silence. He wondered if she was mute.

She finished the meal. He brought her coffee. She paid in cash.

On the fifth morning, in a fit of impulsive daring, Bibbo made a second cup of coffee. He gripped it awkwardly while putting hers down. "I'm Bibbo," he said.

She looked at him, and glanced above the front entrance. Only the wall masked her view of the giant BIBBO'S sign outside. He supposed it was a bit of a stupid statement.

"Look, could I... um..."

She gestured at the seat across from her. He sat down.

Bibbo was too nervous to talk. The pretty lady still hadn't offered a word. They sipped coffee in silence.

On the sixth morning, Bibbo was delighted to see her return – he was a bit worried that he'd made her uncomfortable and she'd gone forever. He was less delighted to see the man that followed her. Oh – she had a boyfriend. Maybe a husband. But he was much older. A father?

"Thank you, Mercy," he said as she held the door open for him. He stepped into the well-lit shop. And Bibbo knew two things – her name, and the man.

Lex Luthor! She was with Lex Luthor!

What was Lex Luthor doing in his diner?!

Bibbo had taken extra care to make sure that the pretty lady's... that Mercy's... table was perfect, so he was relieved when Luthor headed straight for it. Mercy walked about three paces behind him and remained standing next to him as he sat down. His bodyguard, of course. Bibbo had seen her on the news occasionally. No wonder she was so familiar. Luthor picked up a menu by his fingertips as if afraid it was covered in something that might stain his suit. Bibbo gave him a few minutes before stumbling over. "What can I get you, Mister Luthor, sir?"

"Ah... just coffee for now, thank you. I'm expecting company." He gave Bibbo a very specific coffee order, which was dutifully noted down and prepared.

Bibbo was just bringing the coffee over when the diner door opened again, and a tall, dark-haired man with a distinctive handlebar moustache wandered in flanked by two younger men. Bibbo had learned how to tell when people were carrying guns from the way they moved and the way their clothing folded. Those two were definitely carrying guns. They all piled opposite Luthor at the table.

"Coffee, gentlemen?" Bibbo asked as he put Luthor's coffee down.

"No. Thank you." The moustached man gave Bibbo a somewhat suspicious look. Bibbo withdrew, shooting Mercy a questioning glance on the way. _Do you want coffee_?

She looked slightly startled to be noticed and, after a moment, gave the slightest shake of her head. Right. She was working. Bibbo, though, couldn't stop looking at her. He barely noticed the comments of the strangers who hadn't even waited for him to get out of earshot.

"Why did you bring us to this place, Luthor?" the moustached one asked testily. "Of all the insults – "

"Because this is a _discreet_ meeting, and anywhere high-profile would be noticed."

"It is not safe! My family owns several – "

"I assure you it _is_ safe, my personal bodyguard staked it out in advance. With the greatest respect, I couldn't eat at any of your family's restaurants. I have specific dietary requirements."

"That this greasy diner can accommodate."

"There's no accounting for taste," Luthor said with a perfectly straight face.

Bibbo moved away to clean some tables, making sure to memorise the faces of the strangers. He wasn't sure quite what was going on but it looked like something that Superman would want to know about. Luthor usually meant trouble, the way Superman told it. Did that meant Mercy was trouble too? She seemed so nice. And she was just doing her job.

He was halfway through cleaning a table when the gun came out.

So close to the docks, Bibbo was no stranger to gun violence. Smugglers got touchy about money and secrecy, and sometimes they got touchy about it in his diner. But that didn't make it any less dangerous when one of the moustached men's bodyguards pulled a handgun out of his jacket and aimed it, hands trembling, at Luthor.

Luthor, for his part, remained completely calm. Mercy immediately sat on the table, putting herself between the gun and Luthor. The gunman had moved out of everyone's arm's reach and Bibbo could see the dilemma on Mercy's face – she couldn't tackle him without leaving Luthor open. She raised one arm, palm outward, in what Bibbo supposed was meant to be a calming gesture, while the gunman's companions babbled at him to calm down.

"Your projects, luthor, your work, took my whole family... for what, _money_? Don't you have enough money?!" He backed further away. He was between Mercy and Bibbo, whom nobody seemed to notice. Nobody ever noticed the diner guy.

"Mercy..." Luthor said.

Mercy looked distressed. No wonder, she was unarmed and a madman was pointing a gun at her. She glanced from the gunman to Bibbo standing behind him, to her own hand, all within one brief moment.

"Mercy."

The gun wavered, pointed away fro a brief moment as the gunman backed further away. Closer to Bibbo. Who balled his hand into a fist and punched.

"You are disturbing the customers!" Bibbo shouted as the man sank to the floor. He crouched down and took the gun away, then glanced at the gunman's companions. "I have to ask you to leave," he said firmly. "And take your friend, unless you want me to call an ambulance for him?"

"No! No, we'll handle it," the moustached man said. His other bodyguard was already picking up the unconscious gunman. "Good day, Mr Luthor." They left, quickly.

"Sorry about that, Mister Luthor. Please accept a free meal for you and your bodygu – "

"I don't want your food, thank you, Mr Bibbo," Luthor said impatiently. "I must be getting back to the office. That was a more dramatic confrontation than I'd planned for and now I have paperwork to do. Come, Mercy, we'll try that place up North next week."

Mercy met Bibbo's gaze, then looked away. She followed her employer out the door.

There was blood on the floor where the gunman had hit his nose. Bibbo went to get a mop.

On the seventh morning, Bibbo made sure the corner table was extra clean again and prepared the ingredients for one Blue Plate Special in advance. He knew she wasn't coming back. They'd finished with his little diner and she didn't need him any more. But he prepared anyway.

Some fishermen came in. A few people with yachts. Some kids sat in one corner and ordered more milkshakes than anybody should drink at once. Time passed. The breakfast crowd left, the lunch crowd arrived. Then the dinner crowd. The diner emptied. Bibbo wiped down the tables one last time and prepared to close up shop.

He was just fetching the key when the little bell on the door rang. This time of night? Robber. He reached for the small gun he kept behind the counter as he looked up.

Mercy stood in the doorway. She gave the shop a cursory scan as she always did, then headed straight for the corner table. Was that a small smile on her lips? It was!

Bibbo couldn't keep the smile off his own face as he silently prepared the ingredients for two Blue Plate Specials.


End file.
